


We're All Adrift, Together.

by ObjectivlyOli



Series: The downsides [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Bruce Banner Is Seriously Ill, Clint Barton Has Trust Issues, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Health Issues, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Non Graphic Suicide Attempt, Original six, Set after Avengers 1, Short Story, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Superheros, Thor Is Not Doing Well, Tony Stark Has A Heart, character study? kind of, everyones a mess, the downsides of being an Avenger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 21:16:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19048567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObjectivlyOli/pseuds/ObjectivlyOli
Summary: The Avengers weren’t perfect, they weren’t the shining heros the world made them out to be, they had faults, they made mistakes, they were very much, not perfect.But they had each other.





	We're All Adrift, Together.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of an unfinished series of mine, it's like, the condensed version of the other Six parts, which I might eventually finish and post, each one is about a different Avenger and their problems, but I haven't finished them, so for now, enjoy the short stories version!

No one seemed to know their realities of life, how being who they are, being heros, affected them.

The public never saw how Bruce would get sick after Hulking out.

Not just a cold or some sniffling but a full blown 106 degree fever that wracked his body, that made it so he couldn’t keep anything down, body slicked with sweat and tears, the fever induced hallucinations causing him to mumbled incoherent prayers for forgiveness.

Even after the fever went down he stayed sick.

It never really went away.

Bruce's hands would shake, muscles constantly strained from keeping the Hulk back, skin sallow and pale, barely able to keep the most plain of foods down, always layered in sweaters and coats to get rid of the pervasive chill that set into his bones.

Most people couldn’t seem to reconcile the image of shaky Bruce Banner and the indestructible Hulk, but the Avengers could.

They did their best to work with Bruce and the Hulk.

The “Panic Room” was more than just that, it was made of eight layers of wall that had been tested against everything they could throw at it, if Bruce was unable to keep the Hulk at bay, he’d close himself in, waiting for the inevitable meltdown.

Tony kept lemons around, knowing they helped with his nausea, Steve and Thor helping to carry him back to his room after he turned back, tucking him into his bed.

Natasha would bring blankets and warm drinks, sitting with him while he regained consciousness.

Clint was usually the one who took care of him while he was coming down from the fever, he used to babysit the circus kids so he wasn’t phased by Bruces vomiting or babbling, calmly talking to him and pressing cool towels to his head.

Bruce still turned into the Hulk, sometimes on purpose, sometimes on accident.

It was needed at times, someone to destroy things, someone who couldn’t be hurt by gunfire or bombs, even if the Hulks mere existence seemed to hurt Bruce.

***

Contrary to what people believed about Tony, he did not live a luxurious life.

The parties of his past had long since been forgone, it was more common find him working now, in fact, it was hard to find a time when he wasn’t working.

Whether it was something for the Avengers or Stark industries, he was always busy.

Maybe it was because he loved working or because he was afraid to stop, afraid of what would happen when he did.

He worked through pain and injuries, through permanently crushed nerves from where his suit had been pressed into him just an inch too far, his body covered in scars, pieces of metal lost under his skin, never to be retrieved.

No one outside the Avengers knew about his chronic pain, about his debilitating panic attacks, his heart condition, it just wasn’t something he showed to the world, he didn’t want them to see him as a target and have his weaknesses bared.

Some nights he would drink so that he couldn’t see his fathers disappointed gaze, so he could forget about Obi betraying him, about how scared he was all the time.

It would often disarm him, the alcohol, it would distract him for a moment, allow him to laugh without feeling bad, but then it would slam back into him, reality spiraling inside his head, the world would never be safe, he would never be safe, there would always be another wormhole.

Always.

The thing is, Tony really didn’t want to die.

The thought that he would have to die in order to save his friends, again, terrified him, it would make him scream, panicking as his heartbeat ticked up, thinking this was it, paranoia sending him into a frenzy trying to pull the Arc Reactor out before it poisoned him again, before anyone could try to steal it, or hurt him, he needed it out, gone.

He was almost inconsolable during those times.

It became a rule that if Tony was going to drink, he had to have another Avenger with him, someone who could stop him from hurting himself in his panic.

He was still a genius, still seen by the public as someone who was reckless and unworthy of his riches.

But the Avengers knew better, knew him from day to day life, the hardworking hurt person who was the man behind the mask.

When Tony fought, he moved with efficiency, even though his leg had long since lost feeling and his fingers were bleeding, he would bark orders with a barely beating heart and fling himself into danger just to keep others out of it.

The media never seemed to see that side of him, only the playboy of the past.

****

The Avengers were possibly the only people in the world who knew Natasha, because they were very aware that they didn’t know her.

Nat had lied for so many years, that she sometimes had a hard time remembering what was real and what was fake, too many things mixed together, pain and regret melding memories and lies together.

And to be honest, she didn’t mind that she forgot sometimes.

Because sometimes, remembering how your ankles sounded breaking as you were forced to dance to Tchaikovsky, or how the family of five had sounded as they screamed from their burning home, was not something she wanted to remember.

Nat couldn’t remember love, what if felt like, not really, her parents had been killed when she was taken, too young to picture their faces or know their names.

It was hard to remember at times that love wasn’t a bad thing, it hadn’t been acceptable in the Red Room, it wasn’t okay.

So even though Nat trusted the Avengers, she wasn’t sure she loved them, wasn’t sure she Could love them, still, she was nice to them, because they were nice to her and in her own, stunted, way she did care for them.

Clint may be her best friend and probably the person she trusted the most, but it would be Tony who, every once in a drunken while, would remind her that she was loved, would tell her without expecting an answer or reciprocation.

Tony would wax poetic, a bottle clutched in his hands, explaining how cool she was in every way he could think of, how pretty and smart and strong, god, he would carry on for ages, seemingly lost in his own emotions, needing an escape.

And even though he was drunk, Nat would believe him, because if there was one thing she had learned while watching Tony over the years, it was that he raised his left eyebrow when he lied.

Tony didn’t move his eyebrows at all when he complimented her, brown eyes wide and drunk with honesty.

***

If there was one person who seemed like an open book, who seemed like he wouldn’t have any issues, it would be Thor, but, fact of the matter, even gods have problems.

Especially since he moved to earth and started experiencing more… mortal things.

It was Odin's fault, which, seemed to be a common thing with Norse mythology as the Avengers found out when researching their teammate.

Thor had requested he be allowed to live on earth, he wanted to stay with his girlfriend and his friends, he wanted to help where it was truly needed and it seemed that Odin had chosen to punish him for that.

It had started the week Thor changed to living on earth, tiny things at first, but then they gained in volume and had to be addressed, because it was his own body that had turned against him.

His immunity dampened so he could he harmed by one thing.

His powers.

Thor dealt with it as best as he could, but it was still difficult, it was still unpleasant.

It tended to sneak up on him at the worst times, lightning flickering from his fingertips and shattering the glass in his hand, a burning trail left on his skin, causing him to curse and quickly look for a cold towel to tamp down the pain.

He would be having a good day and then something would startle him and suddenly all the lights would be bursting, everyones hair raising, energy surging around him with crackling intensity, little pinpricks of pain dancing across his skin.

Tony would wince, asking Jarvis to order more light bulbs.

Thor tried not to feel guilty, they’d talked about it before, they knew he didn’t mean to do this, that he couldn’t always control it, still, this was the fifth time.

After an incident in which a necklace burnt itself into his skin, Thor stopped wearing metal.

The scar it left was pale and branching along his collar, much like the Lichtenberg figures that littered his strong frame, trailing down his arms, those faded with time only to be replaced with new ones.

Tony made Thor a suit entirely out of energy absorbing materials, testing it with Tesla coils until he was sure his friend would be safe from himself.

It was modeled after historical Norse suits that Tony had looked up, his hammer symbol pressed into the chest piece, various symbols strewn throughout the suit, leather accents making it look that much more Norse.

Thor had been ecstatic when he saw it, showing it off to the others with a gleam in his eyes, positively beaming when he heard it was lightning proof and battle ready.

Thor still had problems, still had injuries and scares, his static electricity raising peoples hair and shocking their hands when they touched him, his eyes blazing with it when he was angry, fingertips scarred over, the smell of ozone clinging to his skin.

No, even gods are not perfect.

And though the lightning burned him as he threw it, he still used it when he fought, pushing it from his skin and into the air with screams that sounded like a war cry.

***

Steve was sharp, he was all hard lines and edges, raw, one wrong touched and you’d find yourself bleeding.

He was always this way, even before the serum, a cheeky little shit who would fight injustice wherever he found it.

The serum did change a lot of things though.

Steve was faster and stronger now, he couldn’t rise to every fight, he had to back down sometimes because he knew he would win, knew it would barely be a fight, a single punch from him could send someone flying through a wall.

His hearing was acute, from the tiniest hum of an electronic to the booms that were Tony and Bruce messing around in the lab.

It was fun sometimes, being able to hear the whisper of pages being moved.

But there were other times it wasn’t fun, when he couldn’t tune it out, the sounds of people whispering about him, his ears ringing in battle, sounds bouncing too loud back at him, it would stay for hours afterward, the noise slowly filtering back.

Clint started teaching him sign language after a particularly loud fight.

So yeah, there were downsides to the serum.

It had opened wounds that would never heal, even with his accelerated healing, even with modern technology, it was too fresh, too deep, maybe it always would be.

Steve sometimes wished he hadn’t become Captain America, there were times when he was sure no one would want to be him if they could feel what he did.

No one would want to know how long it took their organs to shut down in freezing conditions, eyes frozen shut, alone in the world having lost everything to save it. No one would want to feel their ribs break into their lungs, still alive even if you couldn’t breath anymore. No one would want to feel chemicals searing through their veins at all hours of every day.

Steve was sure of this, the same way he was sure no one would want to be thrust 70 years into the future.

So when people glamorized his life, when the museum wanted him to do a speech about how he was adjusting to the 21st century.

Steve couldn’t do it.

Oh he had tried, prepared a speech about PTSD and how different things were, got dressed in a suit and everything.

It was going to be his first official speech since coming back.

But he’d broken down on the car drive there, body freezing up on him, the memory of ice in his veins stopping him from getting out of the car.

Because the truth was, if he went in there and gave the speech how he’d written, he’d be lying.

But no one wanted the truth anymore, not when the truth was gory, when the truth was sad, no one wanted to see Captain America talk about how pointless his life had become, how scared he was, how unprepared he was.

People wanted to see the hero they grew up with, but, Steve wasn’t that hero, not really.

Steve hadn’t asked for this when he signed up with Erskine's, he hadn’t wanted to be a hero, he hadn’t wanted to be invulnerable, he just wanted to help, he wanted to fight with his friend, fight for what was right and instead he lost everything.

The suicide attempt that followed that day was burned into all of the Avengers mind.

They were more proactive with him after that, scared really, Tony didn’t want to leave his side for weeks, keeping a close eye on how he healed up, Nat going easy on him in training, a couple compliments falling easily from her lips.

Clint found his eyes straying anytime he was with the others, wanting to watch Steve, to make sure he was really okay, seeing how he tended to distractedly thumb his scars when he was having a bad day.

They all worried, after all, he was the youngest of them after all.

Steve wished he wanted to stay for himself, but he would do it for them, for the people he could help, that’s what he always did.

***

It was little things that no one thought to question, little things that were in fact, huge to all of them, affected all of them and how they interacted.

Clint tried to keep up with everyone else's problems, but often found himself drowning in his own issues.

He realized one day, sometimes things were too ingrained, maybe one day he’d learn to be okay with that, with his more lived in problems.

Still, it was hard when they seemed to stick out like literal sore thumbs to him.

Clint’s fingers had broken and healed so many times that they looked crooked and scarred, calluses making his fingers tough and scratchy.

He never missed a shot, that was his claim to fame.

Whether it had been that sweet old man he was hired to take down, or his own brother, he had never missed, his hands hadn’t shook, his heart had stayed steady, he never missed, as much as it was a blessing, it was also a curse.

Being an Avenger just gave him a place to be cursed where it was helpful.

The night he woke up with the door to his room creaking, he’d done what felt natural, what he was used too after all these years.

It took him a minute of blindly fumbling with his light before he realized what he’d done.

A throwing knife digging into Steve’s side, his face pinched up, hand pressed to the wound, trying to comfort Clint with words he couldn’t hear.

Steve had been fine, but Clint wasn’t.

He was a weapon, he was dangerous, he knew that, he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have accepted Tony’s offer, he didn’t belong with heroes.

Natasha was the only one who was able to match him, blow for blow, not seeming upset by his freak outs or accidental attacks, she understood, he was okay around her, he wouldn’t hurt anyone because she would stop him if he lost control.

Clint never really learned how to trust himself, even if the other Avengers did, he still doubled checked, triple checked some days, that he was aiming at the right thing.

He was the most accurate of them, but not the most invincible by a long shot.

Clint wasn’t like the others, he was breakable, he was well aware of that, where the Hulk could smash through walls, he crashed into them, his bones breaking.

Where Steve deflected bullets and healed in a day, Clint would be burned and cut up, having to be stitched back together, barely able to move sometimes past the bruises and lacerations for weeks afterwards.

Where Thor could fly, using his hammer to carry him into the clouds, Clint would have to frantically loose an arrow, sometimes he was fast enough to catch himself, often times he wasn’t.

Clint in casts was a common thing, just as much as Clint was volatile, he was vulnerable, that’s why he was the way he is, because he had to be ready to fight, to fall.

He was a weapon, he was an Avenger, he had to keep up, he had to be ready.

***

None of them had chosen this life, their pains and worries, it was thrust on them and they had dealt as best they could, it was easier together, they all agreed on that.

Their missions kept them grounded.

They allowed Steve to let out his energy and actually fight like he used too, with all his heart and strength, it felt like home to him in a foreign time.

Nat would infiltrate, coming up with a lie that made her smile, the weapon strapped to her leg a reassuring and familiar weight, her teammates waiting for her signal, trusting her.

Tony could fly and move like nothing was wrong, for a second forgetting everything, his aches fading into the background hum of battle, eyes flickering around for whatever he could do, for whatever he was needed for, because he was, he was needed.

Clint would lose arrows, would watch, keeping himself in check and trying to trust himself, slowly coming to terms with the fact that maybe he would never be okay, but for just a moment he could believe he was a hero.

Thor could smile past the constant crackling pain, almost believing he was back on Asgaard, because he was fighting with his warriors, his Avengers, he was helping them save people, which reassured him that he’d made the right decision by staying here.

Bruce would watch most times, other times he’d join in, skin turning green and hot, he knew they could handle him as the Hulk, he knew they cared for him and when the missions were over, they all stood by him, comforted him, it gave him the strength to give in, to be angry without worry.

They were a family, a screwed up, messy family that cared deeply, that tried, because they were all they had, because they wanted to help in anyway they could.

The cards they were dealt weren’t good ones, but they still came out winning, they were together.

That was all that mattered now.


End file.
